A symphony of fire and ice
by hobgoblin123
Summary: The Hunter and Damien find a way around the prohibition of sex. I decided to explore the vampiric aspects of Gerald Tarrant a bit. If you dislike a mixture of  auto- erotic activities and a fair amount of bloodsucking, please beware;- . Slash, of course.


**A symphony of fire and ice**

Love, like a river, will cut a new path whenever it meets an obstacle.

(Crystal Middlemas)

The Patriarch's face was white with rage when he stripped him of the marks of his order. Now Damien Kilcannon Vryce had lost everything he'd held dear: his vocation, his faith and the demonic creature who'd pulled him away from those pillars of his soul with his chill, irresistible embrace. The Hunter was suffering in the realms of the Unnamed for his atrocities, far beyond any help, and he was damned as well, a part of his soul welcoming his own damnation with open arms. The gaping, fanged mouth of hell had already opened for him, and...

Blood red mist surrounded him, and the rancid stench of the writhing, rotting corpses piled up to small mountains made him gag with revulsion. The Hunter's hell and the boundless ocean of his victims who found no peace even in death. Groping, icy hands dug into his terrified flesh, and the last desperate memories of Tarrant's prey invaded his brain like slimy maggots. He was alone, so alone, lost in a universe of death and terror. All at once the sickening sweet-and-sour odour of decomposing bodies was drowned in sulphur and a presence so foul and corrupted that his soul gibbered in panic. And then, bile rising in his aching throat, he saw...

An inferno of ash, lava and choking fumes, and the Hunter chained to the naked stone, waiting for the dawn, while Calesta stood over him, gloating, his insect eyes gleaming with sadism and malevolence. Damien himself was bound in shackles as well, just close enough to touch Gerald's trembling sky slowly changed from deep blue to a delicate shade of pink, pale as the palest rose, while sunrise was approaching with grinning death in its wake. Horrified Damien watched the Hunter's body starting to smoke, the adept's desperate grip very nearly crunching his bones. Then the first rays of the sun hit them, and Tarrant burst into flames, screaming his lungs out as the fire consumed his body. Although nearly blinded by the searing pain of his own singed skin and the adept's agony flooding through him via the link Damien didn't let go of his companion's hand, offering the only consolation available. _You don't have to die alone, Gerald. I am with you. _

When it was over and just some dust in the wind remained of the Hunter Damien sobbed like a child, his heart's misery numbing the pain of his body. They had failed, all their hopes in ruins, and Gerald was dead. The world tasted of ashes, and death couldn't come quickly enough for him.

The brutal onslaught of his fears finally subsided to a bearable level, and Damien opened his eyes, just to find the adept watching him intently, some undefinable emotion clouding his eyes. Gerald's skin was smooth ivory again, not the burned, angry red it had displayed earlier.

„Are you alright? "

Good question. How „alright" was a man supposed to be who'd just had to live through his worst fears, soulbound for life to a vampiric creature feeding on human suffering and blood? Consuming a drop of the Hunter's accursed blood had certainly sullied his soul beyond any possibility of purification, but he'd gladly endure his damnation to save the world from Calesta's clutches. But having to live through his most dire fears had confronted him with a fact so terrifying that he'd successfully managed to banish it into the deepest abyss of his soul. Until now. No, he was not „alright", but there was no way he could discuss this topic with Tarrant. Especially not with Tarrant.

„I've never felt better". Damien quipped, hoping that his perceptive companion wouldn't notice the blatant lie. "Ready to save the world? "

Tarrant still gazed at him thoughtfully, his expression unreadable as usual, but looking strangely vulnerable and not at all his familiar, haughty self.

„There's still enough time, Vryce. You could do with a few hours of undisturbed sleep. No nightmares, this time. You fed me enough to keep me going for quite a while. Thanks."

„You're welcome", the former priest shrugged. Something strange was going on here, he was sure now, but he couldn't lay a finger on it yet. Nonetheless a queasy feeling budded inside his stomach. The Hunter behaving in an unfamiliar way never boded well, and Damien harboured a decidedly unpleasant feeling that this occasion wouldn't be an exception of the rule. He tried to banish any memory of the Undying Prince and Gerald's betrayal from his mind. Certainly the Hunter wouldn't dare to play tricks on him again. Or would he?

With a sigh Damien wrapped himself in his blanket and tried to get some sleep, but restless thoughts swirled insistently inside his head and chased away the much needed descent into sweet oblivion. When he finally managed to doze off he slept fitfully, haunted by eerie voices and mocking laughter.

Damien came awake with a start, his forehead beaded with sweat and his heart hammering, just to find himself the one and only occupant of the cave. Undisturbed sleep without nightmares? Ha! His own terrified mind provided them quite well on its own, thank you. Vryce groaned and stumbled to his feet. Where the vulk was Tarrant?

Following the link he found the adept at the mouth of the cave, gazing at the stars in quiet contemplation. Catching the starlight the silver eyes flashed like diamonds, and the light brown hair reflected the golden glow of the stars. Combined with the flawless alabaster skin the Hunter looked like a being made from stardust itself, not from ordinary human flesh. Damien stood frozen, gaping, his heart suddenly in his mouth.

Comparing his own bulk with Gerald's etheral beauty he felt awfully awkward and clumsy, the unpleasant sensation reminding him of the sometimes not so golden days of his youth. Forced to attend dancing classes he'd been a complete failure, so inept that the young ladies had flatly refused to dance with him anymore, valuing the integrity of their toes more than his hurt male pride.

Gerald's mouth quirked upwards ever so slightly, as usual only visible if you knew what to look for, but Damien was able to _feel_ his chuckle, a rather disconcerting experience.

„That bad, Vryce? "

Embarrassed Damien muttered something unintelligible under his breath, and another wave of quiet amusement invaded him, but for once it lacked any traces of malice.

For an instant Damien had a vision of a light brown head dancing cheek to cheek with a reddish golden one, the happy couple swirling around in perfect harmony. The Neocountess and Neocount of Merentha were quite a sight in those flowing revivalist robes of an age long gone by, adorned with circlets and glowing with life, love and laughter. Almea seemed to whisper something into her husband's ear, and he looked down on her smiling, his clear grey eyes full of tenderness and affection. Then both giggled together like children. The picture was overlayed by another one, much more intimate than the first: A bedroom at night, occupied by the same couple writhing naked on a big bed with elaborately carved bedposts and silk sheets, trading bold touches and sighs sweet as honey while the two bodies moved in perfect harmony, as gracefully as on the dancefloor.

The vision broke off abruptly, and Damien blinked to get a grip of reality again, wondering why Gerald chose to share his memories with him. A careful sidewards glance revealed nothing. The adept's face was still and set, not giving away anything.

Damien's gaze swept back to the symphony of fire and ice above their heads, taking in the awe inspiring eternal dance of light and darkness that had enthralled humanity for ages, until their ancestors from Earth had finally answered its call and reached for the stars. Briefly he wondered if they'd ever be able to watch the night sky again; it was very well possible that they would both die the following night, and Damien fervently prayed they'd be able to take Calesta with them and save mankind from falling into slavery. Then he added another silent prayer, not for his own survival, but for Tarrant's.

„Damien." The Hunter calling him by his Christian name was unfamiliar enough to wake him from his silent reverie. Somehow the mood had changed from peaceful companion-ship to tense apprehension, and he sensed a definite feeling of uneasiness, mingled with unflinching determination. So something important had been going on inside that analytic brain all the time. Vryce steeled himself, waiting for whatever revelation Gerald had in mind. He could only hope that it had nothing to do with the one and only topic he wanted to avoid by all means.

„When you realized who I was you wanted me dead, Vryce. You even had the audacity to swear into my face you'd try to kill me yourself. Why do you fear my death so much now? "

_So much for hoping for the best_, Damien groaned inwardly. Of course it had been outright foolish to trust that Tarrant had miraculously missed his deepest fear while supping directly on his terror after the final completion of their blood bond. Feeling his cheeks reddening with embarrassment Damien had never been more grateful for the darkness. His face felt hot, and he averted his eyes, thoughts racing. Maybe he could talk his way out of it, and maybe Gerald would be courteous enough to pretend believing his flimsy lies. Maybe, but not very likely.

The adept still radiated discomfort and confusion, a very unlikely behaviour for Gerald Tarrant who'd never been shy about voicing his opinion. With a start Damien realized that the Hunter wasn't able to recognize love, a feeling obviously anathema to an existence that thrived on death.

Damien had been willing to die for the sake of humankind since he'd been a young man at the seminary. He was a priest and a warrior knight, and if he had to sacrifice his life for a hallowed cause, so be it. For quite a while now he'd even been willing to pay the ultimate price, his life, for the Hunter's redemption. It had never occurred to him, though, that to answer a single question he might have to dredge up all the courage he possessed. For a moment he closed his eyes, but finding his voice again the words came out in a rush.

„Why, Gerald? Because you are a vain, insufferable, arrogant bastard and a know-it-all, and I might very well be the most foolish masochist on Erna. Because whatever you are now you used to be the founder of my faith, the premier knight of my order. The Prophet. Because I can't bear the thought of you suffering in hell again without a possibility of redeeming yourself in God's eyes."

Close to losing control Damien threatened to stumble over his own words, nearly choking on his feelings. He swallowed convulsively, collecting himself for the final leap over the metaphorical cliff. When he was at last able to continue his voice was hoarse. "Or maybe because in death you'll take my soul with you, or whatever is left of it by now, leaving just an empty shell behind. Damn you, Gerald, just make an educated guess, will you? "

For an instant a glimpse of a naked couple in their bedroom arose in his mind again.

„I can't make love to you, Damien, if that's what you want. Any acts of procreation are as deadly to me as the sunlight. I've never regretted that. Until now."

Damien goggled and very nearly stopped breathing Had he just gone crazy, and that wouldn't be something to wonder about, or had Gerald Tarrant calmly admitted that he wanted to lay with him, his smooth, emotionless voice more appropriate of talking about the weather? That was astonishing. Mildly put.

„You should close your mouth, Vryce, except you want to catch some mosquitoes for a late dinner."

That sounded more like Gerald's usual self, and Damien managed a glare, if not a very convincing one, which was answered by an intent, calculating stare.

„What's going on inside that formidable brain of yours now, Gerald? Out with it."

„Do you remember what you offered Karril for accompanying you to the realm of the Unnamed?"

As if Damien could ever forget. The Nameless One had damned his companion to eternal punishment in hell, and he'd been nearly out of his mind with dread and panic, willing to promise Karril the moon if neccessary.

„What on Earth and Erna...? you..?" Damien was at the loss of words, an experience not known to him before he'd met the Hunter. Like a lot of other things, by the way.

„Answer me, Vryce!" Gerald insisted, his commanding, arrogant voice inspiring a profound desire to strangle that intolerable son of a bitch.

„I promised to masturbate for him. Hope that makes you happy." Cringing with embarrass-ment Damien felt his cheeks flushing again and hated himself for that despicable display of weakness.

„It would make me happy if you could do that for **me**, actually."

By now Damien was sure that either he was suffering from an acute hearing problem or at least one of them had finally given in to the strain and cracked up completely. Not a good omen for their mission, as far as he was concerned. Pulling himself together Damien somehow managed to look at Tarrant who'd resumed gazing at the stars again, his face perfectly composed and serene. What gave him away was the slight tension in his shoulders and his hands which tightly gripped the hilt of his sword.

„Why, Gerald?" Damien replied, completely baffled. "Why do you want me to do that? You can't feed on pleasure, can you? "

There was no answer, or more precisely, no words, just a minute shaking of Tarrant's head, but foreign emotions eerily bloomed to life inside Damien's head, invading him like a flash of lightning.

Hatred, red hot and burning like the sun. Thirst for vengeance, for ripping Calesta apart slowly, piece by piece, bathing in the demon's blood and in the ecstasy of his suffering. Fear, an overwhelming fear of death, darkness and the horrors that lurked beyond the gates of hell. The absolute certainty that death was waiting for him, that tonight was the last chance to watch the night sky and lose himself in the powerful dance of light and darkness, blazing atomar fire and the icy depths of infinite space. Fire and ice. Vryce and himself. He'd always suspected that God, if he existed, possessed a strange kind of humour. Now he knew for sure.

And another fact he knew with equal conviction: if an existence of nearly a thousand years was about come to an end in a few hours he wanted to feel truly alive once more, wanted to commit the crime of pretending to be human again. His own undead body wouldn't respond to whatever sexual stimulation, so sharing Vryce's pleasure via the mind link was the only option he had. He wished, oh, he wished so many things, foolish, human things which he'd thought dead and buried with his so many years ago.

A warm hand touched his shoulder, and a surge of understanding, affection and yearning enveloped him like the sweet caresses of the fae, followed by an astoundingly tender hug he'd never expected from the irascible, bulky, foul-mouthed priest.

_But as old as you get you never stop learning_, the Hunter thought wryly. In spite of himself he smiled, turned round and kissed Vryce squarely on his mouth.

Damien froze, completely taken aback by Gerald's unexpected behaviour. Feeling the adept stiffening slightly in his embrace he suspected second thoughts, but then he realized that his undead companion hadn't very pobably been hugged in centuries. No wonder he felt uncomfortable with a human touch. His own body reacted to that rather chaste kiss with frightening intensity, and when a slender hand brushed teasingly over his bulging trousers, the fleeting touch light as a feather, all reason was burned out of him, and he barely managed to undo his pants with shaking fingers.

The first, halting strokes, and the Hunter watched him hungrily, his silver eyes half lidded. Aching to give as much pleasure as possible Damien forced himself to stop and drew his knife. The sharp blade, glittering in the moonlight, opened a slight cut on his chest that bled freely, but wouldn't hinder his fighting capacity the following night. After a moment of hesitation Gerald bent down to drink, his lips following the trail of the flowing blood to his left nipple, circling it with the tip of his tongue until Damien's whimpered helplessly, his body arching into the Hunter's carresses with rising need.

Gerald resumed licking leisurely at the cut on his chest, draped halfway over him, the bond glowing with his enjoyment. Every fibre of his body burning with the craving for release it was sheer torture to keep his stroking slow and steady, but Vryce didn't want this to end so soon, his desperate desire to merge with Gerald, body and soul, fuelling a decision he wouldn't have thought possible at year ago. If any sexual connection of their bodies was forbidden to his undead companion there was still one possibility left, and in his current state of arousal Damien didn't think twice. Gently he pulled the adept's head upwards, close to the veins pulsing in his neck.

„Bite me, Gerald!"

Tarrant's head came up with a start, and silver eyes met his own, full of wonder and disbelieve.

„You can't be serious, Vryce", Gerald retorted icily. "Your arousal certainly addles your brain."

„I've never been more serious. Please, Gerald, cut that vulking debate and do it. Hurry!"

The undisguised hunger in the Hunter's eyes was not to be mistaken, but he shot a withering glare at the warrior knight.

„Don't tempt me, priest. I've been longing for that for a very long time now. What if I lose myself in your feelings, lose control? I might even kill you. Or myself, by the way", the Hunter challenged, shaking his head in exasperation. "If we fail we condemn mankind to eternal slavery, priest. You might better remember that before you play with fire."

„I trust you, Gerald", Damien replied softly. "And if we are to die tomorrow, well, I'd like to perish with a sweet memory. We've given so much already..."

Tarrant just stared at him incredulously, silently mouthing „sweet memory? ". With a bit of imagination Damien could literally see those brilliant brain cells working with lightning speed. In spite of himself the priest grinned. Calculating, always calculating. Maybe it was due time for a bit of feeling, helping his friend along on his long and winded road back to humanity.

„There's some blood on your chin." And with those words Damien started to lick off the few remaining drops of his own blood from Gerald's skin. To his amazement the coppery taste wasn't unpleasant at all, and his arousal that had been cooled down a notch by their discussion soared again. Sighing he found a new target in Gerald's lips which opened under his mouth without hesitation. The blood mingled on their tongues, and now Tarrant was sighing as well, gripping his shoulders with fierce, inhuman strength until pleasure mixed with pain.

_As you wish, you wish._

Locking eyes with him the adept became completely still, not even breathing, and staring up to him Damien spellboundedly watched the transformation from the cultivated, aristocratic Neocount into something altogether different. Of course Gerald had fed on him before, many times, but he had bitten him only once, out of his mind with pain and terror in the aftermath of his fiery ordeal in the caves in the Rakhlands. Vryce's blood had always been transferred indirectly, by means of a canteen, a glass or whatever vessel available, but never again from body to body. Damien wasn't sure whether Tarrant had spared him the discomfort of his bone chilling touch or had simply wanted to avoid sullying himself with his humanity.

This would be different now, very different. In stark contrast to the myths which had travelled with humankind from Earth to Erna Gerald's teeth usually looked quite normal. Many people still possessed somewhat sharp canines, a heritage from distant primitive days. It was a fascinating, if frightening, sight to see those canines lengthening now, substituting the image of the elegant Gerald Tarrant with that of a predator getting ready for the kill. The eyes were changing as well, the pupils slits, their diamondine glittering hypnotic in the moonlight. With Gerald hovering over him Damien was acutely reminded of a huge feline, an untiger maybe, that had just pounced on his prey. A dangerous, deadly creature, it's consummate, languid grace and wild beauty mesmerizing and terrifying at the same time.

But there was an all too human emotion in those inhuman eyes which seemed to burn into his soul with unbearable intensity, looking for something, searching, evaluating. Damien realized that for a man who despised sentient inhuman species the way Tarrant did the cost of dropping his facade and letting him witness that transformation must have been beyond his comprehension. A true gift for him, given willingly in spite of Gerald's fear of rejection. Now he knew why those arresting eyes were weighing his soul, dreading his abhorrence and repulsion.

Intense relief washed over Damien. He'd been right, after all. There had still been a spark of humanity buried deep down in the undead entity called the Hunter, a spark that had been kindled to a blazing flame by his affection for Damien. If, against all odds, they would survive what was waiting for them on Mount Shaitan they would find a way to redeem Gerald. Damien was sure of that, and it was all the hope he needed.

_Will you stop worrying now, Gerald?_

Smiling Damien met that anguished gaze and reached up, pulling Tarrant down for a careful kiss. When their tongues met he couldn't resist any longer and started caressing himself again, his imagination replacing his own hand with his lover's. Vryce moaned in pleasure, pulse racing and breath flying, and then there was a cold hand guiding him, dictating the rhythm, and sharp teeth on his throat. Cool breath chilled his flesh beyond pain, and when he thought he couldn't bear the tension a moment longer Gerald's head moved forward in a blink, striking like an attacking cobra. Then the world stopped turning.

There was no Calesta, no patriarch, no imminent death. Just the Hunter's hand on his own, the soft lips on his throat, the sensual sucking and licking and the channel wide open, drowning him in Gerald's feral pleasure.

Hot, salty blood prickled on his tongue, gushing down his throat with each of Vryce's frantic heartbeats and feeding the beast inside him. The mind blowing primeval pleasure of slaked thirst, hunger and sexual desire all at once, a feeling he could never ever hope to explain to a mortal, and a warm, aroused body pressed against him, the priest's unbridled pleasure setting his own nerves on fire. Fire and ice, and now he was melting in Damien's arms, the icy, unpenetrable caves which had protected his heart for centuries dissolving like coldfire touched by the sun.

Rational thinking was drowning in a sea of blood now, all his predatorial instincts screaming at him to continue, to drink his fill. Just one more sip, and another one, effortless pleasure with Vryce's hammering heart pumping the red liquid into his greedy mouth, flooding his body and mind alike with the essence of the priest. Damien was close now, so close, writhing helplessly under him, his arching body straining for release. Fingers and souls intertwined he shared Vryce's feelings, felt burning fingers fondling his cold flesh until reality and illusion merged into one blinding red inferno of desire. The sheer carnal pleasure was unbelievable, and for a crazy, drugged second his naked longing for Damien was so overwhelming that he was tempted to risk death for it.

Then said priest cried out, and a different kind of hot liquid spilled over their joined hands. Damien sagged back, sobbing for breath, and Gerald collapsed on top of him.

Slowly coming to his senses the Hunter carefully extricated his teeth and sealed the wounds, feeling shaken to the core. If Damien had needed a bit more time he might have killed or at least incapacited him, and considering how flushed he felt himself he could have burst into flames at any minute. How careless and stupid! He'd always prided himself for his ability of governing his body with his mind, and losing control in such an inacceptable way was outright shocking. Of course the whole mess was completely Vryce's fault. That irrational, stubborn priest and his crazy notion of saving him! If, against all odds, they would survive fighting Calesta he had to get rid of that dependency as soon as possible, at whatever cost. Redemption, really!

Strong, reliable arms closed around him, promising shelter and safety, and Damien yawned and stretched his body like a contented uncat, his satisfaction so palpable that the Hunter very nearly expected him to purr.

_Yeah, Gerald, you're such a bad boy. And now stop fretting, and let's get some rest._

Bathed in the warm glow of Damien's affection Gerald Tarrant finally relaxed, allowing himself a small smile, safely hidden at the priest's chest. Whatever might happen on Mount Shaitan he would try to keep the foolish, irritating and adorable warrior knight alive. That was a promise he definitely intended to keep.


End file.
